Asleep

With what's left,
I rebuild alone.
A hand skilled
With no help.

Your work done
Life is quiet
Why trouble it
On my account

Go to sleep
Nestled with ghosts
Blanketed in regrets
And love disappears

Show and Tell

Kids keep secrets

Because they're taught

There's certain things

You shouldn't talk about.

But they do tell their story

Through relationships and addictions

Through negative life patterns 

Playing over and over.

Should we take some time

To explore the dark places in one's heart

To find a child tired of the show

And ready to tell?

Shaken Awake

Old friends came back
To interrupt my dreams
Where I lived my life
Amidst their screams.
I have to admit though
I didn't look bad
Until I remembered
All that I had.

Wasted and thrown away
No one really cared
As long as their feelings
And lies were spared.
Now their old friends
disturb their beds
To rouse them to
A life that's dead.

Dark Waters

While I was in the military, I used to take walks at night along the Atlantic shore, by myself, to get away from people for a while. At the time, I was a young guy experiencing true freedom, but at the same time, I was lost and felt connected to nothing. I remember taking my car to a secluded part of the beach and grabbing a backpack with a bottle of something to drink as I walked with my feet in the warm waters of the ocean.

On occasion, I would have the beach to myself, away from the tourists and the boardwalk - all alone. It would be dark, maybe around 11pm or so, and I would stop to look out into the water and see almost nothing.

On one occasion, there was no moon and very little light. I was encapsulated by blackness and the sound of the waves crashing in. I remember thinking how black everything was, the feeling of being the only person in the universe, and the strange urge to go into the water.

Stripping down to my shorts, I went to the water's edge. The water was warm and calm that night. I proceeded to go deeper into the ocean until I was just over waist deep. I sank into the salty water to float there, facing the east into the nothing, until the waves had carried me in to where my bottom was scraping off of the sand. I would then stand up and walk back out. I'd do this several times before returning to the beach.

The feeling of peace and calm was surprising since it was such an ill advised thing to do. I felt like I was floating in a dream while being wide awake and completely released from the world. The feeling of being connected to nothing was freeing. No matter what the dangers were or how wrong it was for me to venture into the waters like that, I felt completely at rest and at home there.

Direction

Blank space and empty,
Carried in plastic,
Buried in blue...
Left at the sun,
Go through two lights,
And arrive at lost.

Push

Never once did you utter,
A shout or a whisper,
Until I was already gone.
Laying next to you and paralyzed.
I was a thousand miles away,
But only I could reach you,
And still be shoved away.

Who opened the door,
For the voices in my head,
Or the hand that grips my throat?
I was dragged from you,
Kicking and screaming,
And all the while, silent and still,
You laid with your eyes closed.

Yet I hear your voice,
Calling me back home.
To make a journey of several years,
To be travelled in just one night,
To a place where I ran from.
In my head, I'm still afraid
Of a push that will drag me away.

Fallen Tree

He regarded the tree with an ax in his hand.

Once the blade bit into the wood, there would be no turning back. Still, he was sure it needed to be done, and with feet set, he swung the ax around in a fluid motion and buried it's blade into the wood with a smack. Yellow, moist wood could be seen through the smooth, dark bark once he yanked the blade from the trunk, and the smell of it filled his nostrils. He then took another swing...

To some, it seemed such a crime to hack down something that took years to nurture and grow. By all appearances, it was a healthy tree, but it bore very little fruit. Some years seemed to yield more than others, but even then, the numbers were modest compared to others in the orchard. Another tree would take it's place and maybe, produce a better harvest.

Groans could be heard as the wind pushed against the weakend tree. The farmer, catching his breath, surmised a couple more swings would finish the job; however, after delivering just one more blow, the snapping of the fibrous trunk announced that the tree had succumbed.

The farmer stood for a moment to regard the fallen tree with the ax still in his hand before burying its blade into the stump. After wiping his brow with a saw-dusted forearm, he joined those carrying saws to butcher the tree for the burn pile.